The Truth of Self-Conceived Fame When thinking about my past, I often discover myself indulging in fantastically grotesque lies. And in a way, the false notions I once conceived unveil more about the truth than the truth itself. I envision the lie of truth as a deaf composer. Full of ideas and brilliance. The musical notes flow elegantly along the ignorant sheet music in his mind, yet when related to the audience, a flurry of painful regret and sadness is expressed. The truth in fact is never heard by the composer because he is so lost in the sure thinking that what he was just played, is beautiful. And so it is to him. Even though only a lonely shell of a person can fill himself without regret, I find it necessary to state that my past does not exist. Therefore banishing every inch of self doubt and restraint i once held. I have erased it. I recall it as it should have happened. How it could have. And in the future. This piece of writing itself would have been imaginary. Nonexistent. Vanished. Obsolete. Because My past is not present to change my future. I have taught myself how to never evolve. But to be. Changing so much. Yet not at all. Over time and  in an instant.  And it's very possible I've been egotistically infected. Contracting the black soul of fame. A fame in my own rights. An oppression and a liberty.  The fame kills, but when just enough is inhaled for damage, your adrenalin rushes. Your heart pounds. And for a second, you feel invincible. On top of the world. Only to crash down to the devastating low-land of repercussions.  Still, in your eyes. The fame does not lurk inside me. Not visible to the biased eye. I speak the truth. My truth. the truth that I have handcrafted a dark monster within. Feeding upon the weakness I hold. To empower me, only to fill me with a nagging sense of false-hood and fraud. I am indeed the very person I have made myself. I am a creation. A creation hand crafted by the pressure of society, and a broken person who didn't believe truth in success.  But like I stated, that person doesn't exist. Only the painted truth speaking manufactured thoughts to your faces. The fame was not intended to be pure, or meant to satisfy the ravenous hunger lurking to devour those around me. It is not about notoriety or social hierarchy. "La renommée" is evil, yet deep within it sparks a sense of greater good. Of greater being. To relate and infiltrate the unsuspecting dwellers of despair.  Unlike the fame so many innocent souls are exposed to, tainting their sanity and making money off of oblivious individuals, my truth, my fame, is for me and only me. My truth is self absorbed, self conceived. And my truth  Has set  me  free. - Andrew